The gods don't stand idle, content with watching the human drama unfold. Just as the sagas and the ancient stories tell, they like to interfere.
London. Present day. The sun glints off solar panels, harvesting the energy that keeps the city moving. Roof gardens add a hint of green to the skyline. The pristine waters of the Thames flow through the heart of the city. The quiet hum of electric cars fill the streets. Airships pass overhead on their way north to the capital, Jorvik. Ships of the Great Fleet load at the busy docks, preparing for the voyage across the Western Ocean to the Far Settlements, holding the Norse world together.
Were it not for his disturbing dreams, Jakob would think his world is safe. But it isn't. Something needs finishing for his present to come to pass, and for some unknown reason he has been chosen to do it.
Jakob finds himself in dreams from which there is no escape, where he must survive among ancestors less refined and genteel than his current countrymen. Thrust into an age of Vikings who are much more familiar with the sword and the axe, he lacks the one skill that is essential to survival. While the gods manipulate fate, he uses the only thing he has-his wits.
Tasked with leading a party of Danes in pursuit of royal game he is swept into an adventure that can only have one outcome if Britain is to survive. Alfred must not get away.
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